


honey, bread and summer flowers

by daring_elm



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Fae Jaskier | Dandelion, First Meetings, Gen, Originally Posted on Tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:01:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23929606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daring_elm/pseuds/daring_elm
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier meet at a crossroads. Neither is what he seems.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 9
Kudos: 74





	honey, bread and summer flowers

They met at a crossroad. It was early spring, the first day that could be considered such after the long, dry winter the northern kingdoms had to endure (Geralt, being himself, still felt the frost etched into his muscles, chilling him from the inside out, but he had long grown accustomed to all sorts of weather) and buttercups were blooming alongside the road Geralt was travelling. He didn't often leave the forest, much less travel along well-trodden paths like this one, but Roach was tired and Geralt was bored (and lonely, though he would never admit that to anyone except perhaps Roach late at night when he was poking around a campfire, not yet willing to let its warmth fade, and rambling to his one steady travel companion despite her not being able to understand or answer him)—bored enough to leave his typical hunting ground, the woods he could have seen once or dozens of times and navigate the same, to travel over the fields.

And there he was, lute in hand, idly strumming over the strings like his fingers were never meant to do anything else. His eyes were just blue enough that Geralt noticed the difference, just blue enough to rule out a trick of the sun shining in faint rays that pierced the heavy layer of pale grey clouds, that easily could have conjured an illusion and tricked his eyes. But Geralt knew about strange eyes, and he knew that they often meant someone wasn't who they seemed. The man watched Geralt, leaning against a signpost that seemed as if under any other circumstance, it would have collapsed immediately, its signs illegible and pointing in directions that didn't have a path to follow, and Geralt met his brilliant blue eyes and couldn't help but inhale sharply. The man smiled.

The smell of honey, bread and flowers that weren't yet in season hung in the air as the man continued to play a song the witcher didn't recognise but felt like he should have, his eyes still focused on Geralt, waiting for his first move. His smile was more of a painted-on mask than genuine contentment, and yet something in Geralt's gut urged him to return it.

"You're not human."

The faery's smile widened, became more sincere—as his interest was piqued, his eyes shone. They were such a wonderful colour, Geralt caught himself thinking, clear as the sky on any day that wasn't as overcast as this one and blue as forget-me-nots, another flower the witcher found himself missing despite rarely, if ever, putting thought into flowers of any kind. The faery was no longer playing a melody, his fingers plucking three threads over and over in a simple harmony. "Neither are you."

Geralt hummed. "You must know what I am."

"Well, judging by the—" The faery shuddered, the action almost overdone (strange, the fae were rarely known to _act_ , much less portray any sort of weakness when they didn't have to). "— _frighteningly_ large swords on your back, the medallion around your neck and the—" He craned his neck to see the dead creature Roach was carrying. "—whatever that is, not to mention the general… thing you've got going on—" His lute rested in his hand as he gestured to Geralt in a sweeping motion ranging from his hair to his boots, and Geralt could have sworn he still heard the music playing even without a hand to play it. "You're a witcher, aren't you? Must I worry about you slaughtering me and selling my head to a mage?"

"Must I worry about you tricking me into becoming your puppet?"

The fae grinned. "Not yet." He continued his mindless strumming. "Where are you headed?"

"Northern Aedirn. I'm visiting a friend." If Yennefer could be considered a friend was highly dependent on her mood, and whether or not Geralt was willing to put up with the people of whatever town she had settled in for the time being—sometimes he was lucky and she hated them just as much as he did, and then they could get drunk while she ran her mouth about people he had never heard of. It wasn't a particularly pure friendship, but Geralt decided a sullied relationship was better than none at all.

"Do you mind if I come with you?" The faery didn't wait for an answer, pushing himself off the signpost and walking a few steps ahead on one of the paths he had been watching over. The melody he was playing changed, it got lighter, quicker, and again Geralt was hit with the peculiar feeling that he had heard that tune before.

Geralt hummed. "What's your name?"

The faery hesitated. His smile dropped as he took a contemplative expression, his eyes sweeping over the ground. "You can call me Jaskier," he finally decided.

Geralt looked at the buttercups lining the field, then raised an eyebrow. He hummed. "Is that your real name?"

"Shouldn't we all be free to craft our own identity?"

"Hm."

Jaskier grinned dazzlingly bright, and Geralt thought of honey cakes and cherries and bright summer days that, despite their heat, he found himself missing dearly. The lute kept playing by itself, Jaskier gently tuning it despite it looking far from fragile—perhaps a bit of music had been what Geralt had been lacking. The bard looked up once he was satisfied, asking, "May I have your name?"

And like a fool, Geralt gave it to him.

**Author's Note:**

> find more of my stuff at my [tumblr](https://witchers-woodruff.tumblr.com)!!


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